This was his least favorite part of the meal, but he had to drink the
remaining milk or Rhonda would not be pleased. “Waste not, want not,” was her
motto, and she made sure Ernie ate everything he was given.

He grasped the bowl by the sides and brought the edge to his gaping mouth,
pouring as quickly and carefully as he could. He swallowed, barely, and set
the bowl on the table with a clatter as he shook his head back and forth
violently.

Rhonda chuckled at the sight. She knew he hated the taste of milk, but she
couldn’t afford to have him wasting any, not with as many financial problems
as St. Ives was having. She was already stretching it just to buy him his
favorite cereal every week. But really, how could she deny him?

She couldn’t put her finger on the quality about Ernie that made him so
endearing. Perhaps it was his quiet, unassuming eyes, always hidden behind
those thick glasses. Or it could be the fact that he danced – if you could
call his carefree movements that – his way everywhere, and didn’t care at all
what others thought of him. Most likely, it was just his mind. He was a child
trapped inside a man’s body, destined never to understand the complexities of
the world. He perceived things so innocently – and struggled with even the
simplest task that involved remembering something – but he had such tenacity
that it was hard not to admire him. It was sad, in a way, that he’d never
mature past his current mental capacity, but Rhonda was careful never to pity
any of the many down-on-their-luck people she knew at St. Ives. She didn’t
believe in pity – she believed in helping people.

Rhonda thought back to 20 years ago, when she first came to St. Ives looking
to help those less fortunate than herself. She’d always had a heart for the
homeless, and St. Ives needed someone skilled in the culinary arts to help out
in the kitchen. It seemed to be a perfect fit, and for a long time it was.
That was a long time ago, when she was an attractive, idealistic
whippersnapper of a child who wanted to save the world. Much had changed since
then – now she was just struggling to keep food on the table for all the
residents, and every day seemed to drag on longer than the next. Her chance to
make a true difference was gone, and her options were dwindling even more
quickly.

Thankfully, though, there were people like Ernie that appreciated the work
she did. Even if he didn’t say it, she knew he’d be lost without her and the
rest of the staff at St. Ives. And truth be told, they’d be lost without him
and the other residents as well. Their lives were inexplicably intertwined,
and Rhonda knew she could never leave St. Ives voluntarily, no matter how hard
it got or how pointless it all seemed sometimes.

The scraping of Ernie’s chair brought her back to the present.

“Ernie,” she said. “We need to talk ‘bout last night.” He’d hoped he could
escape without receiving the lecture, but he knew better.

Rhonda pulled out the chair across from Ernie and sat down heavily. Her dark
round face, framed by her bunned graying hair, was taut as she looked hard at
Ernie, but her eyes shone a compassionate gleam. He looked down at the floor,
avoiding her eyes.

“Ernie, why didn’t you come back las’ night?” The questions was simple
enough. Ernie thought hard, trying to remember exactly why he hadn’t made it
back, but his mind drew a blank. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered.

“Wal, you know da rules… You know I want ya ta be back before 8. You
shouldn’t be runnin’ ‘round late at night by yerself. Besides, you have a nice
warm bed here. Why you wanna sleep anywhere else?”

“I slept with Ike… he was warm,” Ernie replied, moving his head back and
forth methodically, still staring at the floor.

“Wal, jus’ be sure you make it back in tonight. You know I was worried ‘bout
you. I’m just glad you’re all right.” She stood up and patted him on the back.

“Go on. I guess you’ll be going back up to the corner today?”

Ernie nodded.

“Well, come back later on. I’m baking cookies, and you might not get any if
you’re not careful.” Ernie nodded again and stood up quickly as Rhonda began
busying herself around the kitchen again.

“Bye Rhonda,” Ernie mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen. Rhonda smiled
again. One could never stay angry at Ernie for very long. She knew he didn’t
mean to stay out, and that he was sorry. He was safe, that was all that really
mattered.

As soon as he left the kitchen, Ernie grasped the headphones and put them
over his ears. With a familiar flick of his index finger, he started the music
again, and jived his way on back towards 34 th and Broadway.

Chapter 2: Ned

Beep. Eggs, they’d have to wait for a minute. Beep. Ahh, milk, that
could go with the orange juice –- better double-bag it just in case. Beep.
Chips. Nothing special there. Beep. Beep. Beep. Load the bags in the cart
and…

“Would you like some help getting that out to your car, Mrs. Jensen?”

“Oh no, dear, I’ll be fine. Thank you for your help. You have a nice day.”

“You too, Mrs Jensen.” Looking towards the back of the store, he was Ned was
pleased to see an empty register line. He ran his hand through his graying
hair and began to twirl his mustache. Finally a short break. His line had been
non-stop for the entire morning, and despite his affinity for hard work, Ned
needed a break. He nodded at Maria, turned off his cashier light, and walked
towards the men’s’ room.

After relieving himself, he lowered himself slowly on the small bench in the
lavatory. His knee was acting up again today. He’d need to take a few more
Aspirin if he was going to make it through the rest of the day.

The door to the restroom blew open with a whoosh and in stepped Bob McCrane.

“Hey, Ned. Taking a break?” His smile was far too plastic to be genuine. Bob
was about 25 years old, and most of the cashiers resented him, Ned included.
Ned was nearly twice his age, and probably twice as intelligent, but Bob was
the boss. He knew how to kiss corporate ass like no one Ned had ever met, and
he was rewarded for it. He was always smiling, always trying to joke with
everyone, always oblivious to the fact that no one liked him.

Ned smiled wryly back. “Yes, it’s been a busy day.”

“Indeed it has. Everybody needs a break eventually, that’s the truth, mmm-
hmm. Back when I was working for…”

Ned took the cue and tuned out the rest of the inane story. All of Bob’s
stories were the same. They all eventually ended with Bob saving the day
somehow with his ingenuity, his charisma, and his I-just-won-an-Oscar smile.
Ned didn’t need to hear another one of Bob’s supposedly inspirational stories
in order to do his job better. And no story could improve his knee’s condition
– certainly not one of Bob’s.

He already took his job very seriously. In fact, he took everything in his
life seriously, but the job was especially important. Before immigrating to
the US , Ned had been a well-trained, well-respected mechanical engineer. He
was a wizard with mechanical structures, talented at design, and had a decent
job designing small engines for lawn mowers, cement mixers, and the like.

It was a decent life, but there were dangers too. He and Lavina just didn’t
have the kind of freedom that they truly wanted, and they wanted their
children to have the best possible opportunities available to them. Life in
the US seemed the best way to provide all of that, so they emigrated.

Things didn’t work out as they had planned, though. Lavina had become
pregnant early on in their new life in America , and their finances were
already strained from the journey itself. The pregnancy was long and
difficult, and hospital bills continued to pile on. Ned had been holding out
for a job related to his field of expertise, but at every interview they
turned him away, citing “lack of reliable experience.” It seemed his years in
Europe were not verifiable by the American companies, and despite his
excellent overseas references, most companies were not willing to give him a
chance.

He tried everything he knew to become more desirable to the American
employers. He immersed himself in American culture, became familiar with
American mechanic style and design, and created a portfolio of impressive
ideas to present at interviews. He even changed his name to Ned, since
employers seems to have such a hard time pronouncing his real one.

Again and again, however, he was turned away. With mounting bills and a new
baby at home, Ned did the only he could – he took a manual labor job helping
out at a construction site. Most of his co-workers were either in high school
or immigrants like him. It wasn’t glamorous, but it helped pay the bills.

Ned worked incredibly hard, but he hadn’t lasted long. The knee injury from
his childhood made it nearly impossible to carry heavy loads for long
distances, a major job requirement, and he spent each evening with an ice pack
on his swelling joint. Lavina finally convinced him to try and find another
job, one that would require less physical strain. And with yet another baby on
the way, Ned knew he’d have to find something.

When Ned spoke to Jon, his supervisor, about leaving, Jon had asked his
wife, who worked as a manager at the local Dominick’s to hire him. It was a
dock in pay, and certainly not the step upwards that Ned was hoping to make,
but he was grateful for the much needed opportunity.

That was several years ago. Jon’s wife no longer worked at this particular
store, and most of the other people he’d worked with in the past had long
since moved on, but Ned had kept his job and continued to support his growing
family.

It was far from the dream he and Lavina had had when they came to America ,
but Ned worked hard and earned himself quite a reputation amongst those
customers who frequented Dominick’s Store # 4534. His grocery bagging skills
had grown so legendary that new trainees were required to work with him a
minimum of 10 hours before they could start bagging items themselves, just so
they could learn the ropes.

Ned was ruthlessly committed to efficiency. He could scan, bag, and load a
customer’s groceries into their cart faster than most customers could get
their credit card out of their purse, all while holding a pleasant
conversation. He never forgot a customer, he remembered everyone’s children or
family and asked after them, and was always ready with a joke or short
anecdote to lighten someone’s mood. Not to mention his uncanny ability to fit
more items in a plastic bag than one would think possible. He knew exactly
when items required a double or even triple bag, always took extra care not to
break eggs or crush bread, and ensured all scented items were kept separate
from food items, to protect his customers from soapy tasting bread, meat and
cheese.

Ned did not go entirely unnoticed for his dedication and knack for the job.
He’d been employee of the month countless times, and many customers flocked
specifically to his line at the front of the store, just so they could tell
him how their new baby girl was doing, or hear his latest joke, or ask for
prayer for an ailing relative. Many women in the local area brought cakes,
cookies, and other food stuffs for Ned and his family; yes, Ned was not
unnoticed for his hard work.

But Ned was growing old. He could feel it in his bones every morning, and he
could especially feel it as he sat down idly listening to Bob ramble on about
nothing in the men’s room.

“So how about that, huh?” Bob beamed as his story drew to a close.

“That’s pretty incredible, Bob,” Ned answered idly. He had no idea what Bob
had been talking about, but all the stories were the same, and the appropriate
responses sounded nearly as rehearsed as the stories themselves by now. Of
course it was all lost on Bob. He was completely infatuated with no one but
himself, and Ned’s lack of interest didn’t faze him in the least.

“Yeah, it’s a great story… Well, I’d better get going. Lots to get done,
mmm-hmmm. Don’t dally too long, Ned. The candy around your line seems to be a
little out of whack.” Bob flashed another prize-winning smile as he dried his
hands and stepped back out of the men’s room with a whoosh.

Ned stood up slowly and gingerly put some weight on his knee. He hoped the
Aspirin would kick in soon. It was going to be a long day.